March 13
I think I signed a deal with the devil.
Okay, that sounds a little dramatic, but you get the idea. Christian has been super nice and helpful since we met, but he didn’t get to where he is today by being all warm and fuzzy.
It’s been four days since we signed (I still can’t believe he made me sign a formal agreement, but I guess that’s why he’s a CEO). And every time I think about our first couple post, I feel a little sick.
I’d come to terms with having to lie to my followers, but my friends and family will see the post too. Well, not my parents, but Natalia will see it and she’ll tell Mom and Dad. And I’ll have to explain the sudden appearance of a boyfriend to my friends, who KNOW I don’t want a boyfriend. They’re going to flip out, especially Jules. She hates not being in on all the gossip.
Then there’s the matter of hiding Christian’s face when I make our official post. Maybe I can put an emoji over it. It’s so cheesy it could be funny…
Christian emoji ideas:
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Devil (for obvious reasons)
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Neutral face (basically his expression 80% of the time)
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Heart face (makes sense if he’s supposed to be my boyfriend, but might be too cutesy?)
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“I’m so happy we can catch up.” Jules sighed and popped a
fry in her mouth. “I feel so out of the loop since I got back.” Jules and her boyfriend Josh went on a weeklong trip to New Zealand a few weeks ago, and this was my first time seeing her since she returned. Between her demanding schedule as an attorney and Ava’s constant travels as a photographer for World Geographic magazine, it was hard
for all of us to be at the same place at the same time.
We still scheduled at least one meetup every month, though, even if it had to be virtual. At least then, Bridget, who lived in Europe, could join.
Adult friendships took work and conscious effort to maintain, but the ones that stayed were the ones that mattered most.
That was why it was so hard to lie to Jules, Ava, and Bridget. They knew I’d been fired, but they didn’t know about Christian.
At the same time, I didn’t want to burden them with too many of my problems, and the longer I kept things from them, the less I wanted to explain why I hadn’t said something in the first place.
The fish tacos I ate for lunch churned in my stomach. “You haven’t missed anything big.” Ava brushed a strand
of hair out of her eye. “My life is just work and wedding stuff until October.”
Despite her casual words, her face glowed with excitement.
Her boyfriend Alex proposed last summer, and they were planning a fall wedding in Vermont. Knowing Alex, it would be the most lavish wedding the state had ever seen. He’d already hired the top wedding planner in the country to coordinate an army of florists, caterers, photographers, videographers, and whoever else was involved in the nuptials.
“Hmm.” Jules sounded disappointed that there wasn’t juicier news waiting for her. “What about you, Stel? Any chance you hooked up with a celebrity at an event? Won a million dollars? Got offered a trip to Bora Bora in exchange for pictures of your feet again?”
My laugh came out strained. “Sorry to disappoint, but no.”
Though I did get a fake boyfriend.
The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them along with the rest of my water.
I needed more time to process my situation before I discussed it with anyone else.
“Oh.” Jules pouted. “Well, the year’s still young. And oh my God, speaking of celebrities…” Her eyes lit up again. “You won’t believe who we saw at the airport on our way back to D.C. Nate Reynolds! He was with his wife…”
I relaxed into my seat as she rambled on about her favorite movie star. That was a safer topic than anything about my life.
The remnants of shame prickled my skin, but I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn’t lie to my friends forever.
I’d tell them about Christian soon. Just not today.
We stayed at the restaurant for another half hour before Ava had to meet Alex for some wedding thing and Jules went to “surprise” Josh after his shift at the hospital. I was pretty sure that was code for s*x, but I wisely chose not to ask.
After we said our goodbyes, I took the train to Greenfield.
It was an hour-long ride from the city, and when I’d worked at D.C. Style, I had to rush here after work. Sometimes I didn’t make it; when I did make it, I usually only got ten or fifteen minutes with Maura before visiting hours ended.
That was one perk of being unemployed, I guess. I no longer had to take the train to and from the middle of nowhere at night, and I didn’t have to worry about not having time to see her.
I absentmindedly toyed with my necklace as I watched the city’s concrete sidewalks and European-inspired architecture give way to open fields and flatter land.
I hadn’t talked to Christian in person since our agreement, though he’d texted me the following day asking me to join him at a fundraiser.
I didn’t even know what the fundraiser was for, only that it was a black-tie event and would take place at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.
The jolt of the train as it stopped at the Greenfield station coincided with the uprising of nerves in my stomach.
It’ll be fine. It’s just a party. You’ve attended plenty of
black-tie events.
I inhaled and exhaled a lungful of air.
It’ll be fine.
I stood and waited for a group of tired-looking commuters to pass before I followed them off the train. I only made it halfway before a chill gripped the back of my neck and yanked my head up.
It was the same chill I’d experienced in my hallway the night Christian gave me a ride home.
My eyes darted wildly around the train car, but it was empty save for an elderly man snoring in the corner and the attendant trying to wake him up.
Some of the tension melted away from my shoulders.
Everything was fine. I was just feeling anxious about the fundraiser and the whole fake dating situation.
Greenfield was just a ten-minute walk from the train station, and by the time I arrived, I had managed to shake off my doubts from the journey. I couldn’t let myself live in constant worry, especially when there was nothing to fear.
Greenfield comprised three buildings and several acres in suburban Maryland. With its bay windows, bamboo floors, and lush greenery, it felt more like a luxury boutique hotel than a senior community. It was no surprise it was ranked among the best assisted living facilities in the country.
During the day, it also had a different vibe—not just from the sunlight. The air was serene, and the scents were pleasantly sweet, even in the depths of winter.
Each new day brought fresh hope.
A wave of optimism surged in my chest as I paused outside Maura’s room and knocked on the door.
Today, I was certain she would remember me.
I knocked again. No response. I hadn’t really expected one, but I always knocked twice just to be sure. Even in a care facility, her room was still her sanctuary, and she deserved to decide who entered.
After a moment, I turned the knob and stepped inside.
Maura sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the pond in the back of the facility. The water was frozen, and the trees and flowers which flourished during summer were nothing more than bare branches and withered petals during winter, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She wore a small smile as she hummed a low tune. Something familiar yet indistinguishable, happy yet nostalgic.
“Hi, Maura,” I said softly.
The humming stopped.
She turned, her face registering polite interest as her eyes swept over me. “Hello.” She tilted her head at my expectant stare. “Do I know you?”
Disappointment pulled at my chest, followed by a sharp ache.
Alzheimer’s varied greatly from person to person, even those in the middle stage, like Maura. Some forgot basic motor skills like how to hold a spoon but remembered their family; others forgot who their loved ones were but could function fairly normally in daily life.
Maura fell in the latter category.
I should be grateful she could still communicate clearly after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s four years ago, and I was. But it still hurt when she didn’t recognize me.
She was the one who’d raised me while my parents were busy building their careers. She’d picked me up and dropped me off at school every day, attended all my school plays, and consoled me after Ricky Wheaton dumped me for Melody Renner in sixth grade. Ricky and I had only “dated” for two weeks, but eleven-year-old me had been heartbroken.
In my mind, Maura would always be vibrant and full of life. But the years and disease had taken their toll, and seeing her so frail made tears thicken in my throat.
“I’m a new volunteer.” I cleared my throat and pasted on a smile, not wanting to cloud our visit with melancholy. “I brought you some tembleque. A little birdie told me it’s your favorite.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the chilled coconut pudding.
It was a traditional Puerto Rican dessert Maura and I used to make together during our “experimentation” nights.
Every week, we’d try a new recipe. Some of them came out amazing, others not so much. The tembleque was one of our favorites, though, and we justified making it more
than once by dressing it up with different flavors each time. Cinnamon one week, orange the next, followed by lime.
Voila! A new recipe.
In my eight-year-old mind, it made sense.
Maura’s eyes lit up. “Trying to butter me up with sweets on your first day.” She clucked. “It’s working. I like you already.”
I laughed. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I handed her the dessert I’d made last night and waited until she had a firm grasp on it before I took the seat opposite hers.
“What’s your name?” She spooned some pudding in her mouth, and I tried not to notice how slow the movement was or how hard her hand shook.
“Stella.”
What looked like recognition glinted in her eyes. Hope ballooned again, only to deflate when murkiness snuffed out the glint a second later.
“Pretty name, Stella.” Maura chewed with a thoughtful expression. “I have a daughter, Phoebe. She’s around your age, but I haven’t seen her in a while…”
Because she died.
The ache in my chest returned with a vengeance.
Six years ago, Phoebe and Maura’s husband had been on their way home from the grocery store when a truck T- boned their car. Both died on impact.
Maura sank into a deep depression after, especially since she had no living relatives to lean on.
As much as I hated Alzheimer’s for robbing her of the life she’d lived, sometimes I was grateful for it. Because the absence of good memories also meant the absence of bad ones, and at least she could forget the pain of losing her loved ones.
No parent should ever have to bury their child.
Maura’s chewing slowed. Her brows drew together, and I could see her struggling to remember why, exactly, she
hadn’t seen Phoebe in a while.
Her breathing quickened the way it always did before agitation set in.
The last time she’d remembered what happened to Phoebe, she’d gotten so aggressive the nurses had to sedate her.
I blinked back the sting in my eyes and upped the wattage of my smile. “So, I hear tonight’s bingo night,” I said quickly. “Are you excited?”
The distraction worked.
Maura relaxed again, and eventually, our conversation meandered from bingo to poodles to The Days of Our Lives. Her memories were patchy and varied from day to day,
but today was one of the better ones. She used to own a pet poodle and she’d loved watching The Days of Our Lives. I wasn’t sure she understood the significance of those topics, but at least she knew they were important on a subconscious level.
“I have bingo tonight. What do you have?” She abruptly switched topics after a ten-minute monologue on hand washing laundry. “A beautiful girl like you must have fun plans for Friday night.”
It was Saturday, but I didn’t correct her.
“I have a big party,” I said. “At the Smithsonian.” Though fun wasn’t the adjective I’d use.
Nerves sloshed through my stomach, making me queasy.
Signing a contract was one thing; carrying it out was another.
What if I bombed at the event? What if I tripped or said something stupid? What if he realized I wasn’t the companion he’d hoped for after all and terminated our agreement?
I instinctively reached for my crystal pendant. I’d chosen an unakite jasper today for healing, and I clutched it for
dear life until the cool stone warmed and settled my nerves.
It’s fine. Everything will be fine.
Maura, oblivious to my inner turmoil, brightened and leaned forward at the mention of a party. “Ooh, fancy. What are you wearing?”
In that moment, she sounded so like her old self my chest squeezed.
She used to tease me all the time about boys. Preteen me would huff and complain, but I spilled all my secret crushes to her anyway.
“I haven’t decided, but I’m sure I’ll find something. The real question is, what should I do with my hair?” I gestured to my curls. “Put it up or leave it down?”
Nothing animated her like the topic of hair. Hers was pin straight, but she’d had to learn how to care for my specific hair texture when I was young, and she’d become an unofficial expert over the years.
I still used the post-shower hair routine she put together for me when I was thirteen: apply curl cream, detangle with a wide-tooth comb, squeeze out excess moisture, apply argan oil, and scrunch hair upwards for definition.
It worked like a charm.
A smile curved my lips at Maura’s indignant harrumph. “It’s a party at the Smithsonian. You must put it up. Come here.” She beckoned me over. “Have to do everything myself,” she muttered.
I stifled a laugh and moved my chair next to hers while she took the pins out of her bun so she could work her magic.
I closed my eyes, letting the peaceful silence and the familiar, soothing tug and pull of her fingers wash over me.
Her movements were slow and hesitant. What took her minutes to do when I was a kid took her triple the time now. But I didn’t care how long it took her or what the
result looked like; I only cared about spending time with her when I still could.
“There.” Satisfaction filled Maura’s voice. “All done.”
I opened my eyes and caught our reflections in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She’d twisted my hair into a high, lopsided updo. Half the curls were already falling out, and the rest would probably follow as soon as I moved.
Maura stood next to me with a proud expression, and I flashed back to the night of my first ever school dance—of us standing in our exact positions now, except we’d been thirteen years younger and a thousand years more carefree.
She’d done my hair that night, too. “Thank you,” I whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
I reached up to gently squeeze her hand, which rested on my shoulder. It was so thin and frail I worried it would snap.
“You’re welcome, Phoebe.” She patted me with her other hand, her expression softening into something hazier, more reminiscent.
The oxygen cut off halfway to my lungs.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words made it past the tears welling in my throat.
Instead, I lowered my gaze to the floor and tried to breathe through the fist squeezing my heart.
You’re welcome, Phoebe.
I knew Maura loved me even if she didn’t remember me, and she’d treated me like her own daughter when she did remember me.
But I wasn’t her daughter, and I could never replace Phoebe.
I didn’t want to.
But I could care for her and give her as comfortable a life as possible. That meant doing everything I could to
keep her at Greenfield, including making a deal with Christian Harper.
My stomach twisted. I couldn’t screw up the party tonight with him, and I couldn’t stall any longer. I had to announce our relationship soon if I wanted to get the Delamonte deal.
Maura had taken care of me when I didn’t have anyone else to lean on. It was time I did the same for her.
She was worth the sacrifices.
